I'm A South Parker, Get Me Out Of Here!
by SnowFallsSilverOnRoute37
Summary: Eleven of the SP Gang go into the wilderness in a twisted parody of a British game show, or so I'm told. Original first chapter courtesy of MarshieMello-Cookies. The rest is mine. ALL MINE! MUAHAHAHAHH *coughs* Review, follow and favorite! Rated T for South Park and implied Style. Other pairings too but I'm too lazy to include them. :P
1. Dramatic Intro

**A/N This plotline originally belonged to MarshieMello-Cookies, who graciously let me use the first chapter to write the rest of the story. Thanks again for that! Also, I do not own any aspect of South Park (except maybe its twisted sense of humor)** **Remember, review, follow and whatever the other thing is!**

**-Meri**

* * *

A group of sixteen- year olds sat nervously all around the Australian Port of Sydney. They had no possessions, only each other for company. At the end of a jetty by the harbor sat two boys, one with sleek black hair, the other- you couldn't exactly tell what this kid's hair looked like. He'd been wearing a green hat almost continuously for about- thirteen years now? By the looks of things, they were holding hands, but the cameras couldn't get a close enough shot, so it was uncertain. One of the boys, the kid with black hair, was getting annoyed at the camera guy. "Dude, get the fuck out of here, the show hasn't started yet."

Behind them, at the start of the jetty, was a tubby brunette, who laughed and yelled 'fags!' at them. It seemed that the first two were indeed holding hands because the kid with the hat used his left hand to flip the fat boy off.

On the promenade, in the arcade, were two blonde boys. The first was sporting an orange t-shirt, capri pants, and blue Crocs- a change from his usual parka, and was playing some sort of shooting game. The other wore a pale blue tee, and was trying to grab a Hello Kitty plushie from a large yellow machine labeled "THE CLAW". He seemed to be trying to coax it out. "C-come on now, little f-fella. Th-there's nothing to be scared of." The boy in the orange tee smirked. "Butters, it's a fucking plushie. It. Can't. Hear. You."

Not far from the arcade was a coffee shop, where a third blonde boy sat. He could not, it seemed, go three seconds without taking a sip of the coffee in front of him while twitching constantly, which didn't seem to bother the bored raven beside him, who was quietly singing a tune in a very nasal voice. "Hm-hm-hm-hm-hmm, uncle fuckah, hm-hm-hmhmhmhmhm- uncle fuckaaah."

A group of two girls stood beside a local Aussie surfer, one gawping at his six pack. The curly blonde haired girl giggled when he flexed his muscles, while the noirette with the lilac beret sighed and rolled her eyes. "What will Clyde say?" The blonde laughed derisively. "Mellow out, Wendy. The odds are we won't make it out of here alive. Live a little before you die a horiffic death!"

Down on the beach, was a fourth blonde boy who looked rather skittish. He had, strangely enough, stuck with his usual formal three-piece outfit instead of more beach-suited clothes. He seemed to be regretting it- he was sweating through his coat. A red eyed demon-boy, who was standing next to the blonde kid seemed to enjoy setting fire to the surfers' boards. Soon enough they learned not to go near him, so he sat there, bored.

They all continued with whatever they were doing, until a loud, whirring sound interrupted them, revealing a helicopter bursting through the puffy clouds. The voice of a young woman, with a slight Irish accent, boomed through a megaphone.

"'KAY GUYS, ROUND 'ER UP AT THE MEETING POINT ON THE BEACH AND I'LL MEET YOU THERE!"

Sighs, groans, "Yippee"'s, "Whatever"'s and "Fuckin' weak, dude"'s mixed together to form a mumbling sound as the group met together around the overlarge sand castle on the beach, where the chopper landed, and a girl with short dark brown hair, a purple tee, shorts and knee high Converse sneaker-boot hybrids on her feet leapt out, holding her megaphone high. She was clearly taking sadistic pleasure in their anxiety for things to come.

"'Kay, good to see you all here!" She smiled, examining the audience that was gathered around her.

"Right-o. Let me introduce myself. My name is Cooki, and I'll be your lovely hostess. I'll be in charge of putting you through trials, terror, torture, and….OCCASIONAL COOKIE PIE FIGHTS!" She smiled brightly at the last part, while Tweek- the spazzy coffee kid- trembled.

"So, as you know, I have kindly brought you here, to Australia, where you will be staying in the jungle, facing trials, fights, drama and, as I said before, OCCASIONAL COOKIE PIE FIGHTS!" She continued. "Any questions so far?"

Kyle raised his hand, and Cooki nodded in his direction.

"How the fuck can you afford all this?" He asked, with an expression of utter confusion on his face.

Cooki smiled, walked over to him, and patted his head.

"Good question Kyle. Well, you see, I am an author, so basically, I can do anything, but you're probably not smart enough to truly understand my powers"

Kyle retorted; "Well, you can talk all you like about unimaginable powers but it won't explain how a small indie show got funding to accommodate eleven people-"

Cooki rolled her eyes. "First- I never said UNIMAGINABLE powers. You could probably imagine them easily, but they're still cool. Second, see First."

"But-" Kyle's last attempt to say something was interrupted by the pencils that had started to rain down on his head from seemingly nowhere.

Cooki giggled. "Anyways, let's get this show on the road! Here are your camp kits!" She shouted in the megaphone, while handing out neatly folded kits to everyone.

"Don't worry Cartman, yours is extra, extra, extra, extra, extra, extra, extra, extra, large." She smiled cheekily as the handed the portly boy his.

"Don't you call me fat! You just met me two minutes ago, you goddamn bitch! You wouldn't know my name if there wasn't some guy holding your fucking cue cards right over there!" As it seemed, Cartman could not take a joke.

"Aren't you forgetting another extra?" Kyle asked, causing everyone, including Cooki, to laugh.

"AY! That joke wasn't even funny! Everybody knows Jews have a shit sense of humor. And- I've been saying this for years, you dipshit- I'm not fat! I'm-"

"We know, you're fucking big boned!" Kenny groaned.

With that, Cooki gestured for them to step into the helicopter- she more shoved than gestured really, especially Tweek, who seemed to be having second thoughts about joining the show-where they piled in, and flew off. Their destination: The Great Australian Jungle.

Once they were gone, Cooki turned to face the camera man.

"So, our eleven campers head out to face the jungle. Now, here's where you can have your fun! The first trial is School Dinners of Doom! Where one camper must eat a gruesome selection of dishes, like kangaroo balls, and a camel's toe, but who will it be? WHO WILL IT BE?!"

Cooki, having finished her speech, smiled, waving goodbye, as the theme music started, and the camera's view faded to black.


	2. Week 1 (I)

**A/N Well, this is the first chapter I'm writing unaided. I hope it's as good as the first one. Also thanks a huge big bunch to my wonderful reviewers- Creek Grrl, MarshieMello-Cookies and... *drum roll* Guest!**

**-Meri**

* * *

The camera guy switched his camera back on and when he did, Cooki was standing on a rope bridge over a vast green mass of trees. "Welcome back to "I'm a South Parker, GET ME OUT OF HERE!". The first day is always uneventful as the contestants get used to their surroundings."

The camera cut to the group of teenagers. They were sitting on a crude semicircle comprising of logs and Cooki was standing in the middle.

"Okay, then. Since we are all here, let's explain the rules which any legitimate TV show would have had you read up on beforehand but we didn't." She sighed a tiny sigh, then moved on. "Each day one of you is picked to perform a-" She tapped her earpiece. "Seriously? We're seriously doing that? No. I'm not saying it! You can take my job, goddammit, but I'm not saying it. Not unless we get to have a-" The next part she whispered very quietly. She nodded. "Alright then." She cleared her throat. "Each day one of you is picked to perform a Buttsucker Trial. Don't worry. Ninety-nine percent of the time you won't have to- you know..." Cooki blushed. Tweek twitched. Cartman laughed. "Okay. So the trials are what gets the whole camp their dinner. If the person who got picked does not, however, perform this task, the whole camp goes hungry for the night. As for meals during the day- there are dollar signs hidden all over this jungle. One dollar sign thing gets you one meal for one person."

Butters looked delighted."J-just like in real life!"

Cooki smiled at him. "I think that's just about it. Oh- you may set up your tents wherever you like, but I suggest you band together."

Cartman rolled his eyes. "Don't tell us what to do, you abusive prick! We're wasting precious time that could be spent finding those damn dollar signs!"

Stan- the kid with black hair and the brown coat- sighed dramatically. "And we all know how Cartman gets without his twenty-two meals a day." Everybody laughed, but for Cartman.

"Twenty-two meals? What am I, a fucking Hobbit now?" Cooki scribbled something in a notepad she was holding. Small yellow things fell down onto Cartman's head, to his delight.

"CHEESY POOFS!" The fat boy was now trying to catch the things in his mouth, but his face contorted when he tried one. "Aw, goddammit! These are fucking Cheetos!" He spit it out and decided to be quiet.

Cooki smiled a bone-chillingly evil smile. This girl clearly knew her stuff. "Are we all settled down now?" Everybody nodded. "Good. You may set up your tents and possible camps. I will stop annoying you gradually, but you'd better get used to Norton here." She waved at the camera, which then faded out.

Five minutes later the kids were all busy setting up their tents. Wendy- the noirette with the lilac beret- was the first to propose that they create a camp of sorts. Of course her blonde friend Bebe agreed right away. The others either didn't care or didn't mind. All but Cartman.

"Are you guys fucking retarded?! We need to spread out so we can find more goddamn dollar signs! I AM NOT STARVING TO DEATH BECAUSE YOU GUYS ARE LITTLE PUSSIES WHO CAN'T STAND BEING APART FROM EACH OTHER!"

Wendy rolled her eyes and calmly replied; "If you'd rather get bitten by a coral snake because you won't go an hour without any food then be my guest, but the rest of us would like to live through this ordeal, thank you."

So it came to be that the "camp" consisted of a small circle of tents with the entrances all facing each other, and one lone tent off in the distance. The kids spent their day lounging around, talking, recounting memorable times, and killing giant beetles. All but Cartman, who was obsessively running around trying to find dollar signs, and Tweek, who was obsessively running around trying to find any form of coffee.

At around seven at night the helicopter of doom landed near the makeshift camp and the hostess of doom stepped out, with a bloodcurdlingly malicious grin on her face. She started to talk in a sweet-as-sugar voice;

"Well, hel-LO, my happy campers. Had a good day, did we?" Everybody nodded, clearly intimidated.

"Good. We wouldn't want any saaaad campers, now would we? Anyway, it's time to decide who will perform today's-" She was clearly having an argument with the person on the other end of her earpiece. She shrugged, defeated, and mumbled; "Today's Buttsucker Trial." In a much brighter tone, she continued; "We will decided using our Wheel Of Fortune! Don't let the guys who own Wheel Of Fortune hear, because we will most certainly get sued for copyright infringement!" Two burly men in grey tank tops, camo pants and army boots brought in a large wheel. Each section of the wheel had one of the eleven names on it. Cooki spun the wheel with a bright smile on her face. After five minutes of spinning the bunch were getting annoyed. Tweek screamed; "_Pressure!_" and Craig, the raven who was sitting next to Tweek in the coffee shop, flipped Cooki off. She raised one eyebrow.

"Don't flip me off." She scribbled something in her notepad, which she seemed to conjure up out of nowhere. Craig rolled his eyes and put down the offending finger. Or tried to. It seemed to be glued into its obscene form permanently. Stupidly, Craig responded by showing Cooki his other middle finger, which immediately was stuck too. He sighed. By then the wheel had slowed down considerably, finally landing on "Eric T. Cartman", who jumped up and screamed;

"You son of a bitch! That wheel is rigged, goddammit!".

Cooki smiled evilly. "The challenge we have prepared today is an eating trial. Today's menu; alligator nutsack, seasoned with cat blood and gorilla titties."

Ten minutes later Cartman was sitting at a table- trough, more like it, filled with the aforementioned ingredients.

Cooki was fighting her laughter. "N-now, remember. If you don- don't do this then the whole camp will starve for the niggghhh-" She broke into a giggle fit. She cleared her throat, stood up straight, and opened her mouth when Cartman held up his hand.

"Save it, ho." He then lifted up the entire trough, which was light since it was fashioned from banana leaves, and tipped the contents into his gaping maw. Kenny- the kid in the orange tee and blue Crocs- laughed his head off. Butters- the weedy little boy who'd been talking to the Hello Kitty plushie- looked green. Tweek screamed for no apparent reason and then slapped himself across the face. Wendy and Bebe winced.

Pip- the overdressed, sweaty kid from the beach- managed to stammer "Oh, my stars" in a thick British accent before fainting.

Cartman rolled his eyes. "I really don't give a flying fuck, you guys. Food is food, and I was starving."

Nobody could really argue with that, especially since Cartman's fatness had gotten them a meal of rice and meat which they ate by a camp fire while making fun of the fat kid for willingly eating reptilian scrotum.


	3. Week 1 (II)

**A/N Thanks a million billion trillion to my wonderful reviewers- YeMerryHippogriffs, CreekGrrl, and all the others who have dedicated their time to reviewing. It makes me glow :) Now, I had to watch the "Damien" episode just to do this chapter, so you'd better love it!**

**DISCLAIMER: Pip's opinions on Barbra Streisand do in no way reflect those of the author.  
**

**Also- I am aware that "Rectus Dominus" means "Master of The Asses" or something. Please do not bother pointing that out.**

**-Meri**

* * *

"Goddammit, you guys. For the last motherfucking time- I was starving to death. I was starting to see my _toes_! While standing! What was I supposed to do?!" Cartman angrily defended himself from the onslaught of taunts, three days later- Thursday night by the campfire. The week hadn't been too exciting. Tuesday the wheel landed on Wendy's name, who had to solve a riddle; "One by one we fall from heaven- down into the depths of past. And our world is ever upturned so that yet some time we'll last", to which she had- correctly- answered "The sands in an hourglass". Wednesday Kenny had to snorkel with an alligator in order to get dollar signs. He got three and then lost his nerve and swam for his life, but it was enough to get the rest their dinner. That afternoon, however, had been more dramatic. Poor Pip- the British boy- had to spend six hours in a small wooden chamber doing nothing but listening to Barbra Streisand songs, over and over. At the three-hour mark he had given up and broke down into sobs. Cartman spent another good three hours yelling at him and smacking him around the head. The mood wasn't great as it was.

"GAAHH! I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE!" Tweek had finally lost it- coffee seemed to be his essence and lifeline. He was running around stark naked, screaming random jibberish at the other ten.

While Wendy turned away, Bebe snuck a glance or two at the scene, not regretting it as she smiled dreamily. "Hoo-ey, that boy is _hung_." The raven shook her head disapprovingly, but remained silent.

All the others tried not to look as if they were staring silently at the boy as they stared silently at the boy. After Tweek had spent sixteen minutes licking toads and eating random things he found on the ground (which met with many noises of disgust from the girls), Kyle- the boy with the green hat- stood up, walked over to the tents and got one of the blankets Bebe had woven from banana fibre ("My home-ec class is finally good for something", she remarked), and put it over Tweek's shoulders.

"Come on. You need some rest, dude." The blonde boy didn't resist as the other escorted him back to his tent.

Stan- the black-haired, brown-clad boy- had a glazed look on his face, the slightest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "He's so kind." He muttered to nobody in particular.

Everybody sat in silence for a while, and slowly the fire died. Damien- the red-eyed demon boy- asked in a gruff tone (having grown out of his general rudeness over the years, as well as his ridiculously high voice); "Should I light it again?"

"We're calling it a day, man." Kenny yawned and most of the others followed him. Only Pip and Damien himself remained. The Brit tried to make awkward conversation.

"Er- remember the time you blew me up just to be accepted by the rest of the children in third grade?" The demon boy, ignoring him, squinted at the pile of logs where the fire once blazed. Ominous music echoed all around for a minute. _Rectus...Dominus..._ The fire suddenly burned red and bright.

Then, weary of Pip's annoyingly friendly behavior, he conjured up a stereo, pressed a button on it, and Barbra Streisand's "Woman In Love" played softly. Pip screamed until his throat was sore, and ran for the tents. Damien snapped his fingers and the stereo disappeared again. He lay by the fire, enjoying its warmth.

The next morning everybody went about their daily affairs- Craig had some difficulty getting dressed, obviously, and Tweek refused to come out of his tent- when what they had dubbed "The Chopper Of Chaos" came toward them. It landed and out stepped Cooki- the inhumanly annoying hostess whom they hadn't seen since Thursday afternoon when she made fun of Pip for not making it through his- admittedly awful- Trial.

"So, how is everybody doing? I have an important announcement- no, we won't be telling you who goes and who stays just yet... but you see, I told the corporate exec that I would not under any circumstances utter the words "Buttsucker Trial", unless of course I could make you monkeys have a-" Her voice went very shrill and suddenly cracked in a squeal of excitement. She coughed and tried again.

"YOU'RE HAVING A COOKIE PIE FIGHT!" She screamed and ran for the nearest person to her- which unfortunately was Cartman- to hug in her delight.

"Ay! Get off me, you dickshit twatface!" The heavyset boy yelled in alarm.

The psychotic hostess ignored him and started to do this really stupid victory dance, which involved a lot of butt-shaking and leg kicking.

Two hours later the kids- all except Tweek, who screamed and tried to drink anybody who came near him now- were led into a clearing where a huge mound of what one could assume were cookie pies, stood. Craig tapped Cooki on the shoulder with his one serviceable finger, and said in the same monotonous tone he always used;

"How am I going to hold a goddamn pie?"

Cooki rolled her eyes, but didn't touch her notebook- she didn't need to. "Try lowering one finger instead of raising four."

The boy tried lowering his middle finger, instead of trying to straighten his other fingers- as he'd been doing previously. Sure enough, he could move his hand again. He grunted and walked back to where everybody else was standing.

"Ready. Set? GO!" Cookie almost exploded with excitement.

A pie-fight that lasted at least four hours ensued. By the end of it everybody was sweaty, red-faced and covered in batter and chocolate chips.

"YAAAAAY! Wasn't that fun?" What was it with this girl and cookies? And pie? And insanity?

Then, suddenly dead serious, Cooki turned to face the camera. "In just a few hours we find out who stays and who goes. We'll see you after the break on; "I'm A South Parker, Get Me Out Of Here!"


	4. Week 1 (Friday)

**A/N I know this chapter's short. It's supposed to be- it's the week finale. It'll be thing with this story, I think. Anyway incredible fank-yoos to my awesome reviewers. I got my 10th review on this story (and my 11th)! I never thought I'd make it this far! Thanks again you guys. I couldn't have done it without you. Well, I could. But then I'd have no audience. And that would suck. You get the point. Reviewers= important.**

**-Meri**

* * *

Everyone was sitting tensely all around the campfire, which was unnecessary since it was afternoon- but since everybody felt strangely cold, Damien had agreed to light the fire (having the spawn of Satan as a friend had its perks). Tweek, it seemed, had finally come out of his tent- though he still refused to wear any clothes, to Bebe's delight. Wendy blushed. Out of desperation the eleven nervous wrecks decided to have a sing-off but just as Craig started to croon the movie score of their favorite flick as kids, "Terrance and Phillip; Asses of Fire", the helicopter landed. The horrible hostess didn't step out this time. She was sitting on the landing gear of the helicopter as it hovered twenty feet above the ground, wearing a black glittery cocktail dress, six-inch-high heels, and sunglasses which she dramatically took off and said in the voice of a 1950's movie seductress;

"It's time to see who stays... _and who goes._"

Cartman slapped his forehead. "Holy shit, woman - can we just get this over with?"

Cooki dropped the movie-star voice and, irritably, spoke; "So much for making an entrance. Anyway- we all know why you're here..."

Stan yelled; "We can't hear you! Get the fuck down from up there!"

Cooki rolled her eyes, said something to the pilot who pressed a button and a rope ladder descended from the helicopter. She grabbed on to it as it lowered, and stepped onto the ground.

"As I was saying- we all know why we're here. I don't do dramatic pauses, so I'll just say it here and now. The person among you who shall have to get their arse back on a plane to Colorado is-"

She sneezed.

"GOD. DAMMIT. WOMAN, JUST TELL US!" Cartman was losing his temper.

"Kyle Broflovski. Could you come up here, please?"

The boy with the green hat broke out in a cold sweat. His brown-clad friend hugged him before he walked up and stood next to Cooki, who continued;

"I'm sorry Kyle, but you are- NOT the person who will be leaving."

This enraged the boy, who physically hit the annoying host. "YOU BITCH!"

She rolled her eyes and stuck a bubblegum cigarette in her mouth. "Yeah, yeah. I suck. I know. Tweek! Get your butt on the helicopter! Though you might want to get the aforementioned butt into some pants first."

The blonde boy stood still. He ran for his tent, coming back wearing jeans, a badly-buttoned blouse, and a huge grin.

"CIVILIZATION! VIDEO GAMES! COFFEE! CAPPUCINOS! FRAPPUCINOS! MOCCACINOS!" He ran for the helicopter, grabbed on to the rope ladder, and left, leaving everyone else fuming. All except Butters.

"S-so, anybody got any fun ideas f-for the weekend?"


	5. Week 2 (I)

**A/N Thanks a bunch reviewers! 5 more since my last chapter! Creek Grrl, I'm sorry for getting rid of Tweek... mollanise, I can't PM you, sadly, because you're not signed in to an account, but thanks a bunch for reviewing my story either way! And to all the other reviewers who I've forgotten because I'm an idiot- have a nice day. And some bubblegum cigarettes. BUBBLEGUM CIGARETTES FOR ALL! Disclaimer: Sheila Broslofski  
(misspelled) is NOT my character, she was an OC dreamed up by some chick named Jess.**

**-Meri**

* * *

During the weekend, things were quiet. It was nice not having a schizophrenically cheerful show hostess around to bother you. The guys who exchanged food for dollar signs weren't really socialites either. You just had to signal them- which wasn't hard with Damien around- and they dropped your- you couldn't really call it a meal, it was more deconstructed gloop, into the campsite- and tough love if it crushed your tent, like it had Pip's. He didn't complain, of course. He was Pip. He just put it back up again.

Things became more exciting around Monday of the next week, as they were meant to. Unfortunately this meant having Cooki around again.

"Hello again everybody, and welcome to "I'm A South Parker, Get Me Out Of Here!". It's Monday of Week Two. In eight hours one of these ten tykes will have to perform a dangerous, gross, and/or potentially humiliating task."

Stan spoke up. "Would it REALLY be too much to ask for you to NOT remind us of that fact every chance you get?"

"Yes, it most cer-toodly and assure-diddly would. Now, if you'll excuse me-" Cooki adressed the camera again. "And in five days they will find out which one of them has to fly back to Colorado at their own expense."

Cartman looked at the ground and murmured; "God-fucking-damn it. Somebody make her stop." He sighed in relief when the girl finally stepped back on her helicopter and left.

The rest of their day was spent thusly:

Butters poked a dead snake with a stick; Cartman dug up a dollar sign and danced a victory jig that lasted all of four seconds before he got tired and sat down; Craig practiced his finger-flipping techniques; Damien set fire to Pip's hat thing; Pip ran around screaming because his hat thing was on fire; Kenny seemed to have brought a small stack of Playboys along (how he got them past security none of them knew); and for Stan and Kyle, the other's company was more than enough.

"Why did you ever leave that Gregory kid?" Bebe and Wendy were chattering like parakeets.

"I dunno. He was pretty full of himself."

"Yeah, but he was so good-looking. And smart. And he did lead the whole Resistance thing."

"That's not true! Stan did some of it."

"Because he wanted to impress you. He really didn't care. And then he messed up. And Terrance and Phillip got shot."

"They were brought back."

"If it weren't for Kenny, they and all the others would still have been dead."

"Yeah, well-"

"And remember when he sang that song in the old warehouse? He has such an amazing voice."

"Okay, Bebe. Are you suggesting something? Do you want him? You can have him."

"No! I mean yes, but no, he's not into me. You two made a perfect couple."

Stan- Wendy's former love interest- had heard and he stared daggers at the two girls, to which Bebe off-handedly remarked;

"You go to hell, Stan. You go to hell and you die." The two girls then had a discussion about the things their fourth-grade teacher, Mr Garrison, used to say.

Before everybody knew it eight hours had passed. Cartman had gathered nineteen dollar signs and was laughing at the others, who had found precious few of them lying around and were asking him for some.

The sound of a propeller could be heard through the thick canopy of trees.

Everybody groaned as the perky young woman stepped out of the helicopter.

"Hellosies, everyones!"

Cartman sighed and said; "Here we go again".

Cooki raised one eyebrow, as she seemed to do when she was mad, or preparing a snappy comeback, or both.

"You just shut your yap, Cartman. Or as Sheila Broflovski, your _love interest _in a series of script-format slashfic stories, would say: "No comments from the peanut gallery!"

The fat boy looked positively disgusted. "Some fucked-up fangirl had me date KYLE'S MOM?!"

"No, you cretin. Sheila Broflovski, misspelled Broslofski, was Kyle's fictional cousin who was blonde, beautiful, insane, loved Cheesy Poofs, and didn't think you were fat. She was REALLY crazy."

"I'm listeni- hey! I'M NOT FAT!"

"Well, whatever. She loves to torture Kyle, and other people with her magical pinwheel abilities. She shoved a 7'x5' painting up Pip's ass, made Kyle wear stiletto heels- come to think of it there's not a character besides you who HASN'T had something shoved into the end of their digestive tract by her. Except Mr Garrison, whom she calls a 'spleenophobic perv'. She gets "F"'s on all of her tests. Also, you took her to the school dance, where she used her shoe to take down an alien spaceship. Uh, you two had a Quickie, which as it turns out is an ice-cream special and not what you were undoubtedly thinking of there, because I'm quite positive that's illegal for nine-year-olds. Oh, um, and she switched bodies with Kyle accidentally, which since Sheila's personality was madly in love with you, caused everybody to think he was a homo."

"Holy shitballs. I wanna meet this chick."

"Ya can't. She's not real. It's a slashfic."

Cooki smiled, leeching off the disappointed look on the fat boy's face.

"Now, bring in the wheel!"

The Wheel Of Fortune rip-off wheel was brought in by the two men in army garb again. This time the wheel landed on "Damien Thorn", who was told to get to the middle of a maze and get out again. He got frustrated halfway through and burned it down. No dinner for nine of the ten kids that night- since Cartman had stocked up on dollar signs he didn't care how anybody else was doing and didn't get mad at Damien. Quite the contrary.

"You buncha suckers! I have food, and yooouu don't, heheheheheehe!"

"Shut up, lardass." That was the first time Craig had spoken out loud since Friday afternoon of the previous week. Nobody really cared anyway.


	6. Week 2 (II)

**A/N I'm sorry if this chapter took a bit longer to write- busy with school crap, y'know? Anyways... 20 REVIEWERS (I don't count my own review because that's like giving yourself a hug)! I am over the moon- no, I am way past the moon, 13.6 billion lightyears into space, just after light was created so I can see my huge grin! Love you all and above all else, KEEP POSTING YOUR AWESOME REVIEWS!**

**LOL (Lots Of Love),**

**-Meri**

* * *

Tuesday Cartman got his second challenge- another eating trial, but since he still had plenty dollar signs (miraculously, he was _rationing _food instead of mindlessly gobbling it up), things didn't look good for the rest of the camp.

"Oh _heeell _naw! I'm not eating caterpillar chunks when I got dollar signs! I wouldn't if you paid me in Snacky Cakes! The rest of the camp can go f-"

"Okay! That's enough out of you, fluffy!" Cooki smiled nervously at the camera, and then left. The rest of the camp complained and moaned a little, but they didn't resist much. Butters (surprisingly) came up with the idea of teaming up to find dollar signs and sharing the food. They didn't go hungry that night.

Wednesday Bebe had to spend three hours in a pit of worms. She squealed at the prospect, but decided they might as well have a decent dinner without having to pilfer dollar signs the rest of the day for a change. She sat- or stood- through it, and a couple of people applauded her as she walked back to the camp.

Thursday morning there was another riddle to be solved- which wouldn't have been a problem if it wasn't Stan who was picked to do it.

"Ah, goddammit. Why couldn't the wheel have landed on Kyle's name? His was two spaces away from mine!"

"Cut the crap. Just listen to the riddle." Cooki turned to the camera. "Warning; this riddle has religious content and may be offensive to certain- the hell with it. Here it is: 'What is greater than God, and more evil than the devil? Poor people have it, rich people need it, and if you eat it you will die.'

"Dammit. Uhm... if you eat it... poison? No... it has to be greater than God, too. Mm... Well- I got nothing." Kyle, the boy with the orange coat and green hat, nodded enthusiastically.

"Ding-ding-ding, that is correct! NOTHING is greater than God. NOTHING is more evil than the devil. Poor people have NOTHING, and rich people need NOTHING. If you eat NOTHING you will die."

"Bu- How-?" The boy was puzzled. "Whatever." He rolled his eyes, giving up, and sat back down.

The atmosphere was cheerful the rest of the afternoon, but the happy contentment started to ebb away gradually from Thursday evening until sunset on Friday. As everyone had feared, the not-so-eagerly-anticipated helicopter flew in, and the even-less-eagerly-anticipated-hostess stepped out.

"Good evening, gang. We're doing something a little different tonight. Instead of letting our show's fans decide who stays and who goes, we shall have a double trial!"

"Meaning...?" Cartman motioned for her to continue.

"Well, the Wheel Of Fortune picks one person who will perform a double trial; they can pick between competing against somebody else in, say, a race or something, in which the loser must leave the camp, or they can choose to have one awful trial that they must complete in its entirety or else they need to leave. The reason we have no alternative to leaving on the second option is because nobody has ever finished their trial under those circumstances."

She smiled sweetly. The two men brought out- well, it was _a _wheel, but not the usual wheel. This one had bright colors and sparkles and a neon sign attached to it that read "_Double Trial- Feeling Stupid?"_.

"Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait. Our fate hasn't been set in stone?" Kyle's eyes widened.

"What the hell are we sitting around for? We need to- we need to- we need to DO SOMETHING!"

"And what do you plan to do, may I ask?" Cartman smirked.

"I dunno. Celebrate before one of us gets their ass kicked back to South Park, perhaps, fatass?"

"AY! Don't call me fat, ya goddamn Jew, or I'll cut off your left testis! Screw you guys, I'm going- to my, uh, tent."

Cooki looked on helplessly as the small crowd dispersed. "Son of a bullfrog."


	7. Week 2 (Friday)

**A/N 22 reviews (again, not counting my own)! I can't fricking believe it! Love you guys!**

**Mace and switchblades for all! I mean- uh... Never mind :)**

**-Meri**

* * *

A couple of minutes later, thanks to some switchblades and Mace, the ten kids were back in their spots, at least half nursing cuts and the other half rubbing red, inflamed eyes.

"Okilly-dokilly- as I was saying, one of you will be picked to perform a double trial, which can mean two things- it's the choice of the person picked. Now- without further ado, let's spin the goddamn wheel before you all run off again." Cooki scowled while muttering the last part. The kids exchanged nervous glances- the ones who could open their eyes, that is.

The wheel landed on "Pip Pirrup", who was asked to pick the type of trial he wanted to perform.

He, of course, chose the head-to-head-battle option, because "however small, there's actually a chance I might WIN that one."

"Great- now if you'll just pick your opponent." Cooki smiled innocently.

"Er- Butters?"

"Great! Your battle- trial thing will be one-a-side dodgeball!"

Pip was unsure how to react. He was only good at dodgeball when the others heckled him- which they almost certainly would- but it had been seven years since he'd last held that red rubber ball of destruction. And perhaps they hated him so much they'd rather have Butters win, so they'd watch silently. He began to hyperventilate.

"Whoa. Calm down, Frenchie!" Cartman looked incredulous.

That was the final straw. Pip cried out and launched himself onto the chubby boy, who had never been much of a fighter.

Half an hour later the two boys were being led to a large room, reminiscent of a gym hall. Butters was nervously knocking his fists against each other- an annoying habit he'd never grown out of- and Pip was sporting several new cuts and his eyes were watering. Security here was tight for an every-man-for-himself survival show.

The two boys stood in the middle of the room, with the other eight sitting on the bleachers on both sides of said room. Cooki was holding a pellet gun.

"Ready? Set- GO!" She tried to fire the gun, but it refused. She angrily threw it onto the ground, where it shattered loudly.

"Uh- consider that a 'bang'!" The two blonde boys moved around each other slowly, warily. They each had one shot.

"Come on! Throw the fucking ball, ya French pansy!" Kenny yelled.

Well, that did it. Pip went ballistic and hammered the ball into Butters' face. He was floored instantly, and he whimpered from the floor. The British boy ran over to where the other lay.

"Oh, goodness! I'm ever so sorry. I don't know what came over me!"

Cartman began to laugh. "Every fucking time, frenchie. Every time you ruin the victory by apologizing to the goddamn loser!" Cartman took a dodgeball to the face, too.

Back in the clearing where the camp was situated, Butters was reluctant to get in the helicopter. Cooki was getting impatient.

"Come _on, _you sissy. The sooner we get you back to the harbor, the sooner we can fix your nose- and your lip- and those four teeth." She grabbed his arm, tired of waiting, and pulled him onto the helicopter, then said to the pilot;

"Fly, fly, fly!"

He did. Butters waved goodbye through a grimy window in the side of the helicopter, with a small, sad smile.

Pip was back to his wimpy self, and Cartman was yelling at him thickly, while pinching shut his bloody nose.

"I'm sorry, Eric. I really can't-"

"Sorry doesn't wipe the blood off my face, you asshole."

"A banana leaf might- you could try it, there's plenty-"

"Shut the fuck up, you French piece of crap."


	8. Week 3 (I)

**A/N Okay. I had no fucking idea where I was going with this. I hope it ended up someplace good :) Don;t worry though- I have the rest of the week planned out *evil grin*. Now, for future reference, what Cooki said in Japanese was "Hello, everyone! Today we will-" before she was interrupted. Also, "Foda-se lle, o home" pretty much means "Fuck you, man" in Gaelic. And that's just about it- I'm one short of 30 reviews! Can you guys believe it? Oh, wait.. Two short of thirty. I have to stop taking my own review into account. Anyway this AN is getting WAAAAAAAYYYY too long and rambly, I'll stop here. Anime outfits to all reviewers!**

**-Meri**

* * *

Over the weekend Pip had been eager to reconcile with Cartman- he kept bringing the fat boy dollar signs- saving one each day for himself- and the latter, being as heartless as he was, agreed to forgive the Brit for giving him a nosebleed on one condition;

"You shall become my personal slave for the duration of Week Three."

Pip reluctantly agreed. Monday, after many disgusting footrubs and full-body massages, he was about ready to blow chunks when Cooki flew in on her God-awful helicopter. This time she was wearing a seriously short school dress with a white button-down pullover, which was... _buttoned down_. Her hair was dyed black, straightened, and pulled up into two pigtails.

"みなさんこんにちは！何が起こるか今日は..."

"JESUS CHRIST! HOW HARD IS IT TO SPEAK MOTHERFUCKING ENGLISH?!" The fat boy was exasperated.

"Foda-se lle, o home. Thanks for getting me out of my Anime mindset."

"Just tell us what the fucking trial will be and who will fucking have to do it!"

"Okay! Okay. Frigmuffins. You guys're no fun. Not at all." She kept up a continuous monologue while the two men brought in the regular wheel, then snapped her fingers and all of a sudden her makeup was flawless, her hair butt-length and wavy, and she was wearing a golden dress. She looked down at herself in disgust.

"I think I've lost my edge." She snapped her fingers again and she was wearing her old garb- the tank top, shorts and of course the much-loved Converse boot things.

"Now, where were we? Oh, right." She spun the wheel.

It landed on "Kyle Broflovski", whom Cooki smiled at ominously. The boy in the green hat looked nervous.

"You will be doing a double trial as well, but since it's only Monday, instead of the loser having to leave, the winner will have immunity for the week- that is to say, he or she will not have to leave the show under any circumstances."

The boy sighed in relief. "That's not so bad."

"And the loser will be 50% more likely to get voted off."

Kyle gulped.

"Choose your opponent." Cooki looked positively demonic.

The boy with the green hat crossed his arms defiantly. "I will NOT. You want an opponent for me, you can spin the fucking wheel."

"Thank you, I believe I shall." Cooki scribbled something in her notepad, and shreds of duct tape enveloped the surprised boy's face so that he couldn't speak as the wheel spun and landed on the name; "Stanley R. Marsh". The hostess then waved her hand and the duct tape was gone; she wanted to see this.

Stan and Kyle looked at each other, worried. They were both contemplating the options; neither wanted to lose, but they didn't want the other boy to lose, either. If it was a physical challenge, then Stan- the hot-shot jock boy- would most probably win. If it was a mental exercise, say, another riddle, then Kyle, the smarter of the two would ace it. They could take a dive, of course, but that would mean facing everyone back in South Park and later on, in Kyle's case, Cartman's taunts and jeers of "Lame-ass Jew". In unison, they both uttered the only word that could describe what they felt.

"Goddammit."

An hour later the two boys were both sitting alone- except for Cooki- in a quiet and utterly dark room, with only a single candle in the middle to provide light. Stan had his head in his hands- it was an insanely hard trivia quiz, and Kyle had, reluctantly, gotten all the answers so far. Cooki was enjoying the hell out of this, whereas the boy opposite him was looking strained and pale, trying to fight his natural instinct of answering each question perfectly.

"And now for question number nineteen; the final one." Cooki whispered- you couldn't see her face but the laughter was clear in her voice.

"When did the first animated short of- then future- TV sitcom _The Simpsons _first air and on what show?" Stan sighed, and, seeing Kyle was quite positively dying to answer this, he smiled and nodded. The other boy muttered his answer quite quickly, as if he'd been holding his breath.

"Aprilnineteenthnineteeneight y-sevenwasthefirstanimatedshor tontheTracyUllmanShowtitled "Good Night" butifyourefertothefirstfulll engthepisodethatonewascalled "Simpsons Roasting On An Open Fire" anditairedlessthanwoyearslat erondecemberseventeenthninet eeneighty-nine."

"Uhm, Kyle gets his nineteenth and final point for an immensely detailed but impossible-to-follow answer!"

Both boys kept their eyes on the ground- not knowing whether to congratulate the other on their victory- or apologize for winning. Cooki decided for them when she continued in her genial tone;

"Kyle is victorious, a narrow win by nineteen points- which means we will remove half of all the votes people send in for who they think should lose, and replace them with votes for 'Stan Marsh' to lose."

Stan looked at the ground, cursing himself for not congratulating Kyle when he had the chance, as he was dragged off into a wooden cabin close to the campgrounds, and the door locked behind him. A small microphone dangled from the wall.

"Hello, Stan. If you can hear me then our lazy-arsed tech guy finally got the portable PA system to work. Either way, it's custom that the person who does not win immunity is quarantained." The boy pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

"Has losing given me some sort of deadly disease that must be exterminated?"

"Nah." Cooki's voice replied from the tinny connection. "We just do this for the hell of it."


	9. Week 3 (II)

**A/N I actually had my doubts about the Spin The Bottle thing- it just kind of popped up in a brainstorm session... Assuage my fears and give me a good review, I beg of you! Review, damn it, or Kyle and Cartman kiss again! (No, I kid. I would never, ever do that to Kylie-boo. Twice.) **

**Ice-picks for all! **

**PS There's a "The Simpsons" reference hidden in this chapter. PM me if you think you've found it!**

**-Meri**

* * *

Tuesday morning Cooki arrived in her helicopter again.

"What the fuck, woman? You're not supposed to be here in the mornings!" Cartman was outraged.

"Relax, tubbsy." The hostess rolled her eyes. "I'll be back in the afternoon- but for now I have a new part of the show to introduce- though it may just be for this week."

"Just when we thought it couldn't get any better." A voice, dripping with sarcasm, piped up from the crowd. Kyle was obviously still sore about Stan's incarceration.

"Listen, we know you're mad that the Almighty Forces have taken Stan into their poorly-built prison, but you can't take it out on us-"

"Shut up."

"Okay then." Cooki continued brightly. "Anywoozles- the new part is a small booth in a secluded part of the jungle where you can express your deepest thoughts and feelings, not only on the topic of being here, but on anything. Each hour one of you is taken to the booth and you have fifty-seven minutes to let it all out before you're flown back into the camp. There are no cameras anywhere for a change."

This met with many skeptical noises, eye rolls, and "yeah, right"s from the small mob of kids.

"No, for realsies! You won't get spizzled on, I promise!"

"Spizzled?" Kenny spoke up this time, looking incredulous.

"Spied on. Screw you!" Cooki pouted.

She then left- but she stayed true to her word. Every hour for the rest of that day one of the nine- eight, with Stan in his wooden prison (Cooki assured the others he would be fine confessing his own troubles there), was taken to a small dilapidated booth where they had an hour to express their troubles and woes, in complete and utter privacy.

"Yeah, right." Kyle muttered resentfully as he repeated Cooki's words in his head. He then addressed the booth, mockingly. "This is dumb. I bet that bitch has this place bugged." He looked around suspiciously, and, not seeing anything, he sighed deeply.

"I guess it couldn't hurt- I do have an hour to kill..." He began his story.

Back in the camp, it was later than usual when Cooki arrived, to make sure everybody was done in the confessional and here for "a very special trial". Cartman then called her something that made the usually upbeat and happy-go-lucky hostess walk up to him and slap him in the face.

"Alright-y. Our trial today will be extra-special. Instead of randomly picking one or two people to perform the trial, we'll all do this one together! Including me!"

"Oh fuck. What'll this one be?" Cartman looked genuinely worried- though it might have been the swelling in his cheek contorting his face.

"WE'RE PLAYING SPIN THE BOTTLE!"

"The one where you snog whoever the bottle lands on?" Pip looked hopeful.

"Yes, indeedy."

The Brit looked slightly confused, not sure how to feel about this.

"For those of you who don't know the rules- which I'm guessing is none of you, considering you're teenagers- anyway what happens is we all take turns spinning the bottle, and whoever the bottle points at when it's done spinning- well, if you all want your dinner you monkeys will kiss."

"Even if it's a dude?" Craig paled.

"Yuppers. I'll be joining in the fun, as I may have mentioned earlier."

Cooki even demanded the pilot bring in Stan from the wooden cabin.

Fifteen minutes later the ten were all sitting around a small, pink glass bottle. Everybody was anxious; Pip was sweating through his clothes again, even though he'd wisely taken off the red tweed jacket he usually donned. Cooki allowed everyone time before spinning the bottle first.

It ended up pointing at Kenny, who grinned at the prospect of kissing an older woman. Cooki seemed enthusiastic, too.

Next was Stan's turn. The bottle pointed at the one person he'd hoped it wouldn't; his old girlfriend, Wendy Testaburger. She scowled at him, and pulled his face close to hers- she was getting hungry, not having bothered to look for dollar signs over the weekend or on Monday. They were both relieved when Stan didn't throw up in her face.

After that it was Craig's turn. He kept a pokerface the whole time the bottle revolved on the ground, but when it pointed directly at Pip his jaw dropped. Slightly. He sighed a deep, deep sigh, closed his eyes and the blonde did the same.

Bebe was next- she spun the bottle and thanked the Almighty there were only boys left; she'd burn in Hell before she kissed Wendy or, worse yet, Cooki. She giggled when she saw who the bottle was pointing at. _Burn in hell. _Speak of the devil. She smiled coyly at Damien, who frowned and leaned toward her. Bebe enjoyed it until she got a nasty surprise.

"OW! Goddammit, Damien! Don't _do _that!"

The demon boy shrugged. "I can't help it. I'm a spawn of Hell, remember? I think it's kind of obvious."

"Do you burn the tongue of all the girls you kiss?"

Damien shrugged again.

The final two looked at each other. Kyle moved his gaze to Cooki, his eyes pleading.

"Don't make me. Please."

Cartman stared menacingly at the boy in the green hat.

"I just had to run out of dollar signs Monday night, didn't I? I'm fuckin' hungry, Kyle, and I want a non-gloopy meal, so if you don't do this I swear I will shove sausages down your throat, stick starving dogs in your butt, and carve my name on your corpse with an ice-pick."

The other boy buried his head in his hands. After a few seconds he looked up, his eyes burning almost like Damien's with a fiery rage.

"Cartman, you fat fuck, I would rather make out with Sparky than you. I could take you in a fist-fight but I don't trust the odds that you don't have an ice-pick lying around here."

The two leaned in close to each other, and touched their lips for a split second. Damien grinned at the fire ten feet away, and a crimson column of fire fifty feet high exploded into the shape of a heart. The two pulled apart faster than seemed humanly possible.

"GOD-MOTHERFUCKING-DAMMIT, DAMIEN!" The fat boy and the Jew yelled in unison, then looked at each other, grossed out to capacities which mankind had never before encountered.

The demon boy just laughed.

Cartman physically charged at Damien, who was caught off-guard.

It took five burly security guys to pry them apart.

"Enjoy your dinners, my little teacups! You've sure as heck earned them." Cooki waved goodbye cheerily, and hung on to the rope ladder while the helicopter flew away, making the _call me _gesture at Kenny as she went.


	10. Week 3 (Friday)

**A/N AAAAAHHH! 35 REVIEWS! *dies* Nah, I couldn't die on y'all. Not when I have a story to finish!**

**All reviewers get bootlegged copies of the confession tapes! Including several extras such as Clyde's Confession- Extended Version!**

* * *

Wednesday and Thursday passed by uneventfully- the eight kids were taken to the booth again; Kyle and Cartman verbally attacked each other whenever they were near, Bebe now flirted with Damien every chance she got- to the demon kid's displeasure, Kenny couldn't stop bragging about how he'd "made out with a screwy bitch", Pip and Craig compulsively avoided each other, and Wendy kept to herself mostly.

Friday morning Cooki arrived in an abnormal manner- even by her standards. She was standing in a large glass container being airdropped into the camp. The hostess looked nervous as the container made contact with the ground. Everybody looked suspicious.

"Okaaaay. Okay. Okay. Oaky. I mean, okay. Alright. All right-ee. Okeydoke. Okeydizzles."

"Goddammit ho, get to the point!" For the billionth time, it was Cartman who spoke up.

"Alright. I- um. Yeah. Yeaaaaaah. Getting to the point."

"I will fucking hurt you."

"IwaslyingwhenIsaidthere'dbenocamerasintheconfessiona lbooth."

"Come again?" Kyle looked confused.

Cooki took a deep breath. "When I said there'd be absolutely no cameras or mikes or anything in that little booth? I was lying. The tapes are for my movie night tonight."

"You're not showing them to everybody?" Pip seemed worried.

"No. No, I'm not planning to." Cooki gave the eight a half-hearted smile.

She left in a hurry, promising she'd be back by three o'clock.

Cartman smiled to himself, and he didn't come out of his tent until two-thirty, when he ran back to the pile of logs where the campfire burned in the evenings.

"HOLY SHITBALLS, YOU GUYS! YOU WILL NOT BELIEVE THIS!" He was waving several small rectangular objects around.

"You didn't!" Bebe screamed.

"I did so, bitch. I nabbed the tapes. Now we can learn everyone's humiliating secrets!"

Kyle looked smug as he raised one eyebrow. "How do you plan on playing them?"

"Never underestimate my powers, you fucking Jew. I brought in a portable VCR player with me."

The fat boy then proceeded to set up the small VCR player as some of the other kids tried their hardest to look unfazed.

Fifteen minutes later everything was set up, but Cooki arrived just at that moment, conveniently.

"I know I'm a little early, but let's get ready to hear who has to leave! Have any of you seen my taaaa-"

The VCR player caught her eye and she casually held out her hand for the remote.

Cartman handed it to her, and for once the two shared an identical evil smile as Cooki hit the "PLAY" button. Ironically, Cartman's confession time was first, but he didn't seem to mind. The grin on his face matched that of the Cartman on the small screen as the TV Cartman began;

"All I have to say is that Kyle is a-" A stream of swear words unknown to any of the others ensued.

Cooki rolled her eyes. "Let's fast forward to the good part." The machine started to buzz as she sped through the first half-hour or so of the fat boy's raving.

"-And you know what I heard? Kyle is-" Everybody gasped at the next part. The boy in the green hat lunged at the real Cartman. Cooki did nothing to stop him.

"This is crap. On to the next person." She had her gaze fixed on the screen, as did the six others- while Kyle and Cartman were trying to kill each other.

"That Cooki is fucking insane, but she is one HOT-"

"No, no. No, no, no, no, no, no, no." Cooki did her best not to smile as the Kenny enclosed on the screen had his say. After about three minutes she tired of it, and scrolled through to the next person.

"Honestly, who does that fat boy think he is? I reckon he full well deserved to be hit in the face with that dodgeball-" Pip squealed and held up his arms to defend against any attacks, but Cartman was too busy fighting Kyle to care. Cooki fast-forwarded again.

"I was kinda hoping I'd get Damien when we played Spin the Bottle- I got lucky, I guess." Both the real Bebe and the one on the screen dissolved into a giggle fit as Damien lit a tree on fire in his efforts to avoid looking at the screen any longer. Cooki fast-forwarded, rolling her eyes at Bebe.

"Y'know, I didn't mind getting Stan for Spin the Bottle all that much, but really my first choice would have been-" Cooki paused the videotape and slowly turned to Wendy.

"_Vous aussi, Wendy_?" She sighed.

"Stereotypes, ladies! Now these sons of bulldozers are gonna think they're all we talk about!" Cooki gestured to the boys and Wendy actually looked ashamed. Cooki turned her head back to the screen and sped through to the next person.

"Seriously- it sucks being here. It sucks having to do this crap. It sucks not being able to light shit on fire without starting a forest fire." The Damien on the screen looked annoyed, as did the real Damien. It was obvious that the two _genuinely _didn't give a crap. Cooki was swift to press the fast-forward button, saying all this cynicism brought her down.

Next was Craig. He didn't say a word- he just stared straight into the camera with his eerily expressionless face, and lifted one hand. One finger to be precise. Cooki looked far from annoyed- she smiled at the boy, in awe.

"Didn't your hand get fatigued, doing that for an hour?"

The other shrugged. "Wasn't worse than when I had to do it for a full day."

Cooki sighed. "Get over it. I'm a schizophrenic show hostess. I have a job to do." She fast-forwarded yet again.

"This is dumb. I bet that bitch has this place bugged." The Kyle on the screen looked around, then turned back to the camera he didn't know was there and sighed. "I guess it couldn't hurt- I do have an hour to kill..." He began his story, and after ten minutes the eight were all looking at the real Kyle, who was staring at the ground as if it held the meaning of life. The virtual Kyle was talking in the background and the kids- and Cooki- drank in every word, still staring at the boy, whose face was getting redder than his concealed hair. After the hour was up, the silence was the most painful any of them had ever encountered, before Cartman burst out laughing.

"I KNEW IT! You're a fuckin' faggot, dude."

Wendy walked over to Kyle, gently placing her hand on his shoulder. "Why didn't you tell us before?"

"It was- he- Stan didn't want- leave me the hell alone." The boy walked back to his tent, and nobody wanted to follow him.

Cooki gulped- she actually looked guilty.

"Uhm... right. So- the person who shall be leaving is Stan. That's awkward. Can someone tell Kyle if he wants to say goodbye he'd better do it now?"

Nobody volunteered.


	11. Week 4 (I)

**A/N I know, I know. 5 days me no updatey. Me deservy to die-y. Me bad person-y. In my defense I got a chest cold or some crap that made me cough real, real bad and there's, like, five smokers at my bus stop every morning. Whatever- I just can NOT believe I have 53 reviews! AHHH! *dies again* That gag's getting old, isn't it? :S**

**Screwdrivers and potpies to all you reviewers!**

**-Meri**

* * *

Over the weekend Kyle had isolated himself from the other seven kids- he refused to come out of his tent at all and Wendy, being the caring person she was, gathered dollar signs for two instead of one person, and Bebe helped at the noirette's request. The boy in the green hat didn't go hungry. But when Wendy cautiously stepped into his tent where he was lying limply and left him the food, whispering a soft "Feel better" as she left, he just stared at her.

Cartman would rather jump off a cliff than admit it, but he was getting bored without somebody to make fun of. After a weekend of trying and failing to find dollar signs (Wendy and Bebe had taken most of them for themselves and for Kyle), he literally dragged the boy out of his tent (which was a feat he couldn't normally accomplish, but it was easy with Kyle in the state he was), and started to yell at him- all the usual insults.

"Get up, you gross Jewish parasite."

"Move your skinny butt, kike."

"I will shove that dumb hat up your ass if you don't get the fuck up this instant."

The other boy ignored him, staring at the thick green canopy of leaves above him.

Cartman sighed. To himself. Softly. Inaudibly. _Time to bring out the big guns._

"I'm glad I showed everybody that dumbass tape- how else would the world know what a faggy, Heeb, soul-less ginger, Jersey piece of shit you are?"

Honestly Kyle wasn't too offended by this- Cartman "brought out the big guns"- as he always whispered too loudly to himself- too often for them to have much meaning anymore.

"You miss your boyfriend, Kylie? Y'wanna go home and give him a nice-" Cartman didn't finish his sentence. This one was over the line. Kyle sprung up.

"You know what, Fat Riot USA? This is all your fucking fault- my parents are going to kill me. Your little _prank_" His voice was filled with venom at the word _prank._ "-Will get me disowned!"

"Just glad to have you back, Kyyyylieeee." Cartman spoke in a jeering sing-song voice.

That was the last straw- the two fought for a good hour, leaving the fat boy with several scrapes on his arms and legs, and his nose was presumably broken- either way it was bent in an angle no nose should ever be bent in. The other was relatively unharmed. Kyle brushed some dust off his shoulders and headed back to his tent, but at that moment Cooki arrived- she seemed to have a knack for interrupting at exactly the wrong time.

"Okeyzoomles. I'll be back in an hour but for now- we're getting rid of the confession booth for reasons TOTALLY unrelated to Friday's unpleasantness, and the trial today will be a double trial, where the loser gets no dinner but the rest of the camp eats tonight either way. Finally, we've prepared a special surprise this week. Bye-bye!"

She hadn't gotten off her rope ladder the entire time she was speaking, having had the common sense to use a megaphone as she hovered ten feet in the air. She waved her hand at the pilot and they were gone as quickly as they had come.

Kyle sighed and sat on one of the logs around the fire, deciding he might as well stay while he was out of his tent. He tried to stay inconspicuous as the kids around him made conversation, lit things on fire, flipped people off, or just chatted.

Cooki was back soon, and she looked very, very relieved to see the familiar green hat among the ranks again, instead of back in a musty tent.

"Uh-huh. Okay. Um... the trial. We- uh... We'll bring out the wheel, I guess. Oh, and- er, we've some people here you may like to see." She was unable to meet the jade-green eyes of the boy in front of her.

Instead of the usual heavy men in army garb, the Wheel Of (Mis)Fortune was brought in by an aging, fat man in a pink unbuttoned flowery shirt with fake eyelashes, and the other in what looked like a stripper outfit- a mockery of a policeman's uniform, with the crotch cut out of one layer of pants.

"Big Gay Al?" Kenny piped up from the crowd, puzzled.

"Mr Slave?" Wendy, the same.

"Hey kids, it's us! They flew us in to say hello! Isn't that super?" The man in the pink tee spoke first.

"Yeah, unfortunately we have to leave soon. Jesus Christ. We'll be here for the trial though!" The man in the stripper garb was talking now.

"Super!" The first agreed.

Cooki motioned for the two to sit down. They picked the spot on the log where Kyle was sitting alone. The boy smiled at the other two as the wheel was spun.

For the third time it landed on "Eric T. Cartman".

He held up his hand as Cooki opened her mouth.

"I _know_ who I'm gonna pick."

An hour later two boys were standing in a dusty area with iron fencing up fifteen feet high, with windows in the sides for spectators to look through.

"So it's come to this, Kyle. A primitive fist-fight."

"Don't even start- _don't even start, Cartman._ YOU picked ME for the trial, and I assume you'll want to see it through, you food-crazed garbage truck?"

"Ah- yes, well... about that..." The fat boy tried to seem nonchalant, for once not acknowledging the insult directed his way, but it was obvious he was stalling. He knew he couldn't take the other boy in a fist-fight... but he was so very, very hungry.

Somebody broke the window with a Phillips-head screwdriver- glass shards flew through the air and Cooki's voice sounded shrilly through the window; "FIGHT ALREADY FOR CRYIN' OUT LOUD!"

Kyle ignored her. "Well? Do you or don't you want to fight? I don't really give a fuck."

The fat boy shuddered slightly and took a deep, shuddering breath before stepping forward.

"FOR CHOCOLATE CHICKEN POTPIES EVERYWHERE!"

The struggle ensuing lasted surprisingly long- probably due to the fact that Cartman had snuck in some brass knuckles, but the fat boy didn't stand a chance either way. Drops of blood literally spattered onto the walls as both boys punched and kicked, intent on hospitalizing the other, at least. Kyle because he'd have to face hell on going back to South Park, because of Cartman's prank. Cartman because he was a dick.

That night Cartman wasn't meant to have any dinner, but Kyle gave the fat boy his, saying "This crap probably isn't Kosher anyway", and punching Cartman in the face again before he left for his tent. Damien snickered and made a red heart-shaped flame appear again, smaller this time.

Most people giggled despite themselves, but Craig stayed silent, sneaking a slightly disgusted glance at Pip.


	12. Week 4 (II)

**A/N Okay! I'm just fucking stoked that this chapter's up, because I'm back in the Zone now. If I don't piss away my time watching Minecraft mod reviews on YouTube. Either way I'll only be able to update about once a week, twice if we're lucky, but I'm not counting. Anyway 59 reviews (excluding my own)! *Dies a fourth time* **

**Or third, I dunno. **

**Anyway, love you all! Reviewers get a Meet 'N Greet with Mr Kitty!**

**-Meri**

* * *

Most kids who knew him would have had plenty unpleasant things to say about Eric Cartman, but one couldn't help but admire his resourcefulness as Tuesday morning he'd created a miniature telephone-pole-looking thing, in lieu of a radio tower, and he kept bragging about how he'd be the only one who'd be able to communicate with the outside world when it was done. Most people just sighed, or rolled their eyes, or shot him murderous glances (though technically just one person did the latter).

Cooki flew in on her helicopter at around five PM, the kids could tell (Wendy and Kyle, undoubtedly the smartest of the group, had fashioned a crude sun-dial sort of thing- it worked fine as far as anyone could tell). She wasn't holding on to her rope ladder- and the helicopter wasn't descending, either. It stayed roughly two hundred feet in the air as the hostess adjusted a helmet-looking thing on her head- and _jumped_. Thus landing neatly on top of Cartman's radio tower-thing, aided by a parachute.

"YOU MANIACS! YOU BLEW IT UP! OH, DAMN YOU! OH, GOD DAMN YOU ALL TO HELL!" The fat boy dramatically fell onto his knees and raised his hands in desperation as Cooki stood by looking confused.

"Okay. Well, uh... we've brought in some more people you all may want to meet. I told them to stay on the chopper 'till I said to come out, so I guess I'll signal them."

She took a flare gun out of her pocket and shot it into the air, where it exploded in a miniature shower of sparks, quite like a firework. Seven more figures were seen jumping from the helicopter and they landed in a rough circle around Cooki, one of them losing its balance and falling on its face where it lay quite still.

"This time we brought in someone close to each of you. They will be introduced in no particular order."

Everyone was too excited to exchange wierded-out glances.

"First, we've got Estella Havisham." A girl with long, blond hair stepped forward, out of the shadow of the helicopter.

"Estella! It's so lovely to see you again after all this while-" Pip was ecstatic as he ran up to her.

Estella held out her hand, the palm flattened, and the boy ran straight into it, the impact flooring him.

"And you, Philip." Her face was expressionless, perhaps slightly disgusted, as she moved her gaze down to where the disgruntled Brit was lying.

"Er.. right then. Next- Clyde Donovan."

Cooki nudged the figure on the ground with the tip of her boot, and it grunted and rolled onto its back, revealing a mop of chestnut-brown hair and dark blue eyes looking around eagerly for the person he wanted to see.

"Bebe!" His pubescent voice cracked as he waved at the blonde girl, who walked up to him.

"It's- uh, good to see you, Clyde." She sounded unsure of herself, trying to be inconspicuous as she peered at Damien over the shoulder of the boy she was embracing.

"A happier reunion, to say the least. Right- introducing Satan!" A large red figure stepped out of the darkness, looking shifty.

Nobody moved.

"What? Are we supposed to hug? _What_?" Damien looked around, irked.

"You two take your time- father-son bonding is never easy. Next up we've got Mr Kitty!"

Almost as if it had heard (or maybe someone had kicked it), a very old, fat grey cat trotted toward Cartman.

"Hello Mr Kitty. I missed you. Yes I did. Yes I did! Did you eat that potpie I was saving? Because I will fucking kill you if you did. Yes I will. Yes I will!" The fat boy kept up a continuous stream of baby-talk as he walked back to the others with the cat in his arms.

"Some very disturbing pet-kid bonding there. Okay- uh, next here's Sheila Broflovski!"

A short, plump woman with a red beehive hairstyle stepped forward, her face expressionless as her green eyes scanned the small crowd for the face of her son.

Cartman broke into fits of laughter, leaned over and whispered to Kyle; "You're totally fucked, dude!"

Sheila ignored him. Her lips parted in a slight smile as her gaze rested on the green hat she'd seen so often.

"Kyle, bubbeh! It's good to see you." She sat down next to him, but the two were awkward around each other.

"Well, that was kind of anticlimactic." Both Cooki and Cartman looked bummed.

"Anyway- come on up, Bette Midler!" A woman with short, curly blond hair in a red sparkling evening dress walked toward the kids.

"Wait- Bette Midler? What the fuck?" Kenny piped up.

The woman took a piece of paper Cooki held out, and read from it; "Wendy Testaburger?"

Wendy raised her hand, puzzled, but a grin was spreading over her face slowly as the woman walked over.

"Hello, I'm Bette. You probably don't know me- my work was before your time, but I was told-"

"It's such an honor to meet you, Miss Midler! I loved you in _Beaches_! I almost cried... and _Wind Beneath My Wings_? That's my absolute favorite song!" The noirette breathed, in a very high-pitched voice. Bette smiled.

"Those two will have much to talk over, won't they? Anyway, last but not least, Chef McElroy!"

"Hello, chirren! I'm supposed to be here for one of you little crackers."

Kenny and Craig looked at each other.

"Um-"

"I think-"

"Oh yeah! It's Craig, isn't it?"

"Uh.." Craig sat on his log uncomfortably, as Chef joined him.

"Well, that about wraps things up. You have only tonight to catch up with your guest, before they leave-"

"Wait, wait, wait! What about me?" Kenny was confused.

"Oh, well- we wanted to have Karen come over, but she's either scared of flying or scared of me (can you imagine it?), so we got a replacement!" Cooki then strode over to where Kenny was sitting, and seated herself comfortably next to him.

The blonde boy mouthed; _Score!_ at his friends.

From her seat on the log Cooki continued to speak. "The trial tonight won't be interesting- we'll just see who can withstand a marathon of _Beavis & Butthead _for a longer amount of time- so we'll see you Wednesday on 'I'm a South Parker, Get Me Out of Here!'"


	13. Week 4 (Friday)

**A/N This chapter is just totally muffining random. I actually think I've gotten back into the rhythm of updating, though! YAY! And sixty-something reviewers. My brain hates me, so it forgot to tell me to check. Whatever. Now PLEASE do not MISINTERPRET the noises coming from the tents, okay? Just read what's written and nothing more. I only saw the wierdness of it looking back, and HEEEELLL naw I ain't gonna change it now. **

**Dalek costumes to all reviewers!**

**-Meri**

As Cooki had said the trial Tuesday night was very dull. Craig was to spend eight hours watching _Beavis & Butthead_, but even he, the very image of emotionlessness, charged angrily at the small black-and-white screen fifty-two minutes in.

Those fifty-two minutes, however, were fifty-two minutes spent alone, without the usual seven others surrounding him- Cooki had let them stay in the camp to "talk things out" with their guests.

From one tent the sound of a teenage boy's crying could be heard.

From another, enthusiastic talking and laughing, followed by a duet of "Wind Beneath My Wings".

From the next; "GODDAMMIT KITTY! IF YOU WANNA TAKE A CRAP GO OUTSIDE!"

The fourth tent was on fire. "Here on Earth we use BLANKETS to keep warm, _Father_."

"And just how in the hell was I supposed to know that?"

From the fifth tent a small grunt could be heard. The soft snickering of a girl ensued.

"Ah. 'Hit The Blond Boy With A Log'. As much fun as ever."

"Indeed." A British-tinted boy's voice replied.

The rest were silent.

As Craig returned to the campsite, the large figure of Chef motioned for him to sit down from by the fire.

"Listen close, chirren. For some reason they asked me to fly into Australia, so here I am and if you'll bear with me, I'll tell you how to win this show."

The boy stayed silent, as he always did.

"Alright then. Here it is. The one piece of game show advice. The only advice you'll need. Passed down from generation to generation of game show participants."

"Participants?"

"Oh, you never heard? Chef McElroy, _Blockbusters, 1981_."

Craig made a small noise of acknowledgement.

"Now here it is. One simple tip. Sure-fire winner. _Sleep with the hostess_."

"_What?_"

"Make sweet love to the hostess. If it's any show worth competing in there'll be a _fiiiiine _lady hostess and to win her over and make sure you win that damn money- do her."

"Oh, uh, thanks Chef."

Friday, after two more trials (more MTV cartoons- as it seemed, the writers had run out of inspiration), everyone met up to discuss, with varying levels of enthusiasm, how they spent their time with their guest. Of course, everyone kind of flocked around Kyle, wanting to know how his encounter with the Dragon Woman had gone.

"It's not that big of a deal, you parasitic vultures. She was fine with it. We didn't talk at all." The boy looked exasperated with the sheer number of eager faces wanting to know any and all juicy tidbits.

Later on, Kenny pulled him to the side. "How did it really go?"

"I told you, she was-"

"Don't try and pull that shit on me, Kyle Broflovski. I wasn't born yesterday. Wait-" The blonde started to laugh. "That came out wrong." He then looked more earnest. "Seriously though."

"Meh. We had a heated discussion, and after careful deliberation she embraced me as her loving son again, but half of the part of her estate left to me in her will is now Ike's."

"Ah. You win some, you lose some."

"Right."

The two returned to the campsite, where Cooki looked like a complete moron having to be airdropped into the camp as she was wearing a giant Dalek costume.

"Uh, _exterminate, destroy, kill _and all that poo. Hello my campers! How're you all doing? Bebe? Wendy? Kenny? Damien? _Craig?_" She lingered for a short while on the last name.

Craig raised his hand (and finger) halfway up, but thought better of it and dropped them again.

"Well, I have some sad news for you all. One of you will be leaving. That someone is Bebe."

Bebe looked crushed. "What- HOW?! WHYYY?!"

"Ah, well, the viewers don't like it when the little blonde bitch goes and breaks up with the good-hearted but stupid (and gorgeous) boy ruthlessly. Their words."

"It was a mutual breakup!" The girl with the red tee looked outraged.

"Um, Clyde came into my tent crying the other night. My mom insisted on babying him." Kyle pointed out.

"Kyle, I swear, if it wasn't for that ass I would-"

"Let's GO already!" Cooki was nearly dragging Bebe away. She just had time to blow Damien a kiss before she was pulled up onto the helicopter and it left.


	14. Week 5 (I)

**A/N More character cameos! AND MORE REVIEWS! 68 this time, not counting mine! *Di- nah. **

**Anyways- Anonymous: I can't PM you as you're not signed in, but I'm glad you liked my story- you were the only one to remark on the Mr Kitty bit :P**

**BEANS TO ALL REVIEWERS! (Who knows, you might need to fart-pwn somebody sometime)**

**-Meri**

**PS (I dunno if Author's Notes can HAVE PS'es but, like, totally whatEVS. Anyway- I was thinking to write a new fic- a recount of the Battle of La Resistance (South Park: Bigger, Longer & Uncut) through the eyes of one of the lesser-known characters (I may even make an OC but don't count on it). Leave your thoughts in a review! Out on the streets, yo!**

* * *

During the weekend Wendy didn't talk nearly as much- who was there to talk _to_? She didn't seem to miss her friend all too much, but she wasn't used to being alone with her thoughts for the first time in four weeks.

In the camp, boredom had grown to the point that Cooki's arrival was _welcomed_. She seemed overcome by all of the faces smiling up at her, eager for relief from this sleep-inducing daily rut of looking for dollar signs, putting out fires, and squishing snakes.

"Hello? Have my moody, PO'ed happy campers been replaced with alien droids? Let me check... Oy! Fat boy! five hundred sixty-seven multiplied by four hundred and ninety eight! What is it?"

The, ah, _portly _boy answered instantly. "Two hundred eighty-two thousand, three hundred sixty-six. AND DON'T FUCKING CALL ME FAT!"

"Hmm. Mannerisms of the original specimen remain, and yet it shows an astounding aptitude for calculus. We need more tests."

"Oh, don't make me laugh. He scarfed down a calculator in that Sloppy Joe binge six weeks ago!" Green eyes looked scathingly up at Cooki from under a hat of the same color.

"You're FINE, Kyle. We need to find out about the others. Craig- _Die Hard. _Name the phrase and its speaker."

"'Yippee ki yay, motherfucker'. Bruce Willis."

"Excellent. Wendy- Women's Media Center."

"Founded by Robin Morgan, Gloria Steinem and Jane Fonda in 2005- an organization that works to amplify the voices of women through-"

"You're good, Poindexter. Damien- name the movie of choice in Hell?"

"_The Omen, 1976. _There was a remake release on June 6, 2006, the numerical date of which is 06/06/06."

"I actually didn't know the answer to that one anyway, but you're a hellspawn so being a droid would be an improvement, I think. Oh, real mature." Cooki added, noticing her boots were on fire. She wrote something in her notebook and water poured onto the boots, reducing them to ashes lying on the ground, which made Kenny moan;

"Why not the shirt, man? Why not the shirt?"

Cooki rolled her eyes. "Pip! What phrase do you hear most often?"

"Heavens, I couldn't tell you. Something about 'frenchie'?"

"Good enough. Kenny! How many times have you died to date?"

"One hundred ninety-nine."

"I actually didn't think you'd kept track. Whatever. I think that about covers it. Except Cartman's sudden way with numbers."

Kyle's eyes widened. "Uhm, the calculator thing wasn't a witticism- it happened."

"Oh." Cooki tried not to laugh as she continued;

"Alright, well, the trial today will be quite different (I've said that too many times for my liking), but this time it's for real. Come on out, boys!" The helicopter had stayed on the ground until that point, when two Canadian men hopped out, one a chubby little individual with black hair and a red shirt that had a large "T" printed on it, whereas the other had blond hair, in pretty much the exact same style, but he was more lean, and he was taller, so the "P" on his blue shirt was stretched out a little.

"Terrance and Phillip?" The kids gasped in cartoonish unison.

"Yes kids, it's us!" Phillip spoke enthusiastically.

"We've come to brighten your bleak, dreary lives for a fleeting moment, at a nominal fee!" Terrance, in the same upbeat tone of voice, but he rubbed his thumb and index finger together.

"God, you entertainers are bloodsuckers. Here's your freaking nominal fee." Cooki took a handful of hundred-dollar bills from her back pocket and handed them over. She spoke into her earpiece. "I expect to get a FULL REFUND, Mike. Six hundred dollars."

She sighed and turned back to the rest. "So, for the trial today you will have to-"

"SING IT!" Cartman yelled, annoyingly.

The two Canadians looked confused.

"Sing 'Uncle Fucka', you dumb shits!"

"Ooohh. Well, if your wonderful host is okay with it..." Phillip smiled tolerantly at Cartman and held out his hand to Cooki.

"Goddammit, lardbutt." She grumbled as she fished two more bills out of her pocket.

The pair seemed to conjure up a choir of their fellow countrymen in a flash, and as they all gathered around for a stunning rendition of "Uncle Fucka", rhythmic fart solo and all, most of the boys were delighted. Wendy didn't give two craps about Terrance and Phillip usually, but she had to admit the vocals were amazing.

Cooki turned away. "Make it eight hundred, Mike."

As soon as they were done Cooki interjected.

"Right, so- the trial. One of you will have to _out-fart _either Terrance or Phillip!"

Everyone paled. The choice was to either be majorly fart-pwned, or live with- well, not live because Cartman obviously still had his ice-pick and he looked ravenous.

But- oh, the irony- as it turned out, Eric T. Cartman was the name picked by the rip-off Wheel. He looked slightly nervous and he asked for some beans, which Cooki had had the foresight to stow away on the helicopter.

Can of beans in hand, Cartman nervously pointed at Phillip, the blue-clad taller man, as the one he wanted to compete against.

The two were led into a smell-proof ("yes, there is such a thing" Cooki gloated) room with a small camera and microphone, but there was no need.

Roughly two minutes later Phillip ran screaming from the small enclosure, and jumped into the helicopter.

"Come on, Terrance! Let's get the fuck out of here!" He pulled his companion onto the helicopter and Cooki joined them, yelling;

"Dinner will be down 'round six!" as the chopper vanished into the distance.

Everybody was gaping at Cartman, who grinned and quipped;

"I hereby declare THAT guy- _fart-pwned_."


	15. Week 5 (II)

**A/N I am PSYCHED! I actually wrote and published a chapter in a day, like old times!**

**Stomach cramps for all reviewers! Wait, uh... .**

**-Meri**

* * *

Cartman really "blew it out his ass", as Kyle liked to put it, this time, and he knew it.

He'd been having stomach cramps for the last two days when Thursday rolled around. Cooki taunted him- insisting that she could not intervene past her duties as a hostess, this being a reality/game show.

"Goddammit, just-nh." He clutched his stomach tigher. "Just give me SOMETHING!"

"Mmm... no."

"_Verdammt noch mal, gib mir ein Schmerzmittel schon, Schlampe_!" For some reason he was lapsing into random snippets of German.

"_Nein, ich will nicht. Und wenn alles gut geht Sie und Ihre kleinen Freunde leiden heute Abend._" Everyone else could hear the malicious, evil tone in her voice, though most of them didn't speak a word of German.

"The hell we will. What do you plan on-nh." Cartman looked derisive. "-Doing?"

"You'll see. Oh, you _will _see. _Besonders derjenige mit den Haaren des Raben._"

She left, cackling evilly as she hung from the rope ladder by her feet.

Everyone clustered around Cartman.

"What'd she say?" Damien wanted to know.

"She-nh. I told her to give me some fucking painkillers, bitch, so she got pissy and went-nh. She said; 'No, I will not. and if all goes well you and your little friends are suffering tonight.' So when I asked her what she planned to-GODDAMMIT!" He yelled, clearly in pain, before continuing.

"Planned to do, she said, 'you'll see', but you all heard that, and then; 'Especially the one with the hair of ravens.' Some gay-ass metaphor, methinks. Someone with black hair."

Craig, Wendy and Damien exchanged glances.

Later that day, when the sun was setting and the seven kids were gathered by the campfire, Kyle remembered something.

"Hey- weren't we supposed to have had the trial ages ago?" Then, not being able to help himself, he added; "You, of all people, should have noticed, Fatass."

"How many fucking times, Jew? I am not-OW! HOLY SHITBALLS! MY ANUS!"

Kyle snickered.

Wendy, now officially the most sensible of the group, interjected. "I think we should get to sleep and then see what happens in the morning."

Everyone followed her advice and went back to their tent.

When the sky was pitch-black Pip, who had always been something of a light sleeper, was awoken by a rumbling noise coming from the distance. He had no idea what it could have been, and went to the tent next to his, which was Wendy's.

"Wendy? Wendy! Wake up." Pip urgently whispered.

The noirette groaned, sitting up slightly. "Zuh- oh. Pip. What is it?"

"I heard squeaking noises, and heavy footsteps."

"Well, we're in the Australian Jungle. You really can't expect it to be totally quiet."

"No, but this was different. It sounded like some sort of..._monster_."

"It's probably irrelevant, but ages ago, I remember Stan told me a story about some giant mice or something from Paraguay. They killed everyone. The end. Now get back to sleep." Wendy, still drowsy, was getting irritable.

"Oh- very well then."

The rumbling gradually got louder, to the point where the ground shook. This time Cartman woke. He was not amused.

"QUIET THE FUCK DOWN OUT THERE! I NEED MY BEAUTY SLEEP!"

The others were woken up by his yelling.

"Wasn't me."

"Nor I."

"Shut the hell up, Cartman."

"Wait- then who's making that noise?" Cartman was beginning to have his doubts. He got up gingerly, and snuck outside. A dark figure approached- the fat boy was always one to jump to conclusions- so he alerted the camp immediately.

"HOLY FUCKING SHIT, YOU GUYS! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES! THERE'S MONSTERS OUT THERE!" He himself began to run, but he wasn't moving too quickly for obvious reasons.

Finally, Craig opened his eyes- being accustomed to sleeping through lots of noise. _What the hell is he talking about now? _ He thought. He decided to take a look, utterly freaking out when he saw huge shadowy things approaching the camp. _Wait. _He squinted. _Fur. Smallish, protruding nose. _His eyes widened as he saw one final detail. _An eye-patch. _

"Shit. The guinea pirate thing is back!" He yelled, frozen to the spot as the shadow approached.

The others, who were edgy already, having been woken up several times, came out of their tents. They, too, saw the beast and ran for it. Craig came to his senses and joined them, each weaving a path through the narrow spaces between trees. He could see some of the others near him, but right now the only person he gave a rat's ass about was himself- the last time he'd seen this guinea pirate thing, Craig was fulfilling an ancient Aztec or Inca- whatever- prophecy, but he didn't see any ancient altars or temples, so things didn't look good.

He'd gotten quite far from the pirate thing when he heard a scream from somewhere near him. _High-pitched. Clearly a girl. Must be Wendy. _He kept running, however stopped short on seeing a smallish figure sprawled face-down on the ground. It- Wendy, he could tell- looked up.

"Help me up, please! I tripped!" Her eyes were full of fear, but the guinea pirate was getting closer. Craig took a full second to decide, and gave Wendy an apologetic look before running off. She screamed again, louder.

After about an hour of simultaneous running and feeling like a douchebag for abandoning Wendy, Craig slowed his pace, not hearing the rumbling noise or feeling the ground shake. Ten minutes later, he decided it had given up, and he slept propped up against a tree.

The next morning he deemed it safe to make his way back to camp, and by two PM he'd gotten to the campsite, where the others waited, staring daggers at him. Wendy was sitting in between Kyle and Cartman- Kyle with his arm around her shoulders- whimpering with her head in her hands.

Nobody said anything, but if looks could kill, Craig, the boy with 'the hair of ravens', would have been dead five times over.


	16. Week 5 (Friday)

**A/N Okay, it's been more than a day. Still no new reviews? That makes me a sad panda.**

**Reviewers get to sit on Kenny's log!**

**-Meri**

* * *

For a while, the silence stayed, lingering over the camp and growing, becoming heavier by the minute. Wendy's small frame was still hunched over, her long hair covering her face. Even Cartman managed to stop whining about how much his stomach hurt.

Then Kenny, arguably the most brash of the group, made the 'awkward turtle' motion, and a few people- Cartman and Damien- couldn't help snickering, which earned them a destroying glare from Kyle, and a disapproving 'tut, tut' from Pip. But it achieved the desired effect- everyone started talking again, sort of.

Cartman began the conversation, by giving a loud, fake cough that sounded strangely like "Asshole".

Craig looked around for Cooki (which had become somewhat of a reflex) before flipping the fat boy off.

This resulted in a heated argument between Kyle, Damien, Pip and- no, you couldn't exactly call it 'heated' because people just yelled things at Craig, but he only sat there, his emotionless face perhaps tinted very slightly with remorse.

Of course, Cooki dropped in at just the right moment, yet again. She jumped off her helicopter wearing a silver cocktail dress, her hair elegantly upswept with a few strands dangling loosely, and started to address the camera, oblivious to the campers who were all but charging at her.

"Hello, I'm Margaret O'Rourke- I mean Cooki. What the hell? Where did _that _come from?"

The hostess was confused at her own words.

"Either way, this is 'I'm a South Parker, Get Me Out of Here!' Thursday night we unleashed a terrifying plague upon our happy campers. Today we shall see how they deal with it. Oh, and who's out of the running for champion. Of course."

Cooki waved her hand and she was wearing her normal garb again. She sat down comfortably next to Kenny, who, as it seemed, had been saving a spot on his log. I mean, the log he was sitting on. Wait, wait wait... oh, goddammit. Forget it.

"So, does anyone have anything to- saaaaaaayyyy, what happened to Wendy?" The hostess began, and trailed off when she saw the girl sitting, head in arms, shaking slightly.

"When you sent your bitch-ass guinea pirate to come kill us and eat our guts for Snacky Cakes, she tripped and Craig, being an asshole, ran instead of- OW! MOTHER OF JESUS!" Cartman was having gut troubles again.

"-Helping her. She got back to the camp later than most of the others this morning, she wouldn't say shit for the first hour, when she was crying, and even then she was being vague. In the meantime gaywad over there-" He gestured to Kyle.

"-Spotted a broken finger which he fixed up. But of course you and your lovely viewers already knew that." He smiled sweetly at the camera.

"Naturally." Cooki replied smoothly, then walked over to Wendy with a concerned look on her face.

"Were you hurt?" Everyone was shocked to hear a voice this gentle come from Cooki.

At this the girl slowly raised her head, so that the thick curtain of hair surrounding her face shifted.

"Oh, my." The hostess breathed.

A long cut extended from below Wendy's left eye to just below her right ear, branching out in strange patterns across her face, almost like some sort of tribal tattoo.

"That is beautifully done. I want one like that!" Cooki whined.

"How the hell did the guinea pirate do _that_?" Kenny gasped. Everyone did- the intricate swirls and rosette-like patterns were breathtaking.

"I don't know. It just cornered me, then swiped its- _claws?_ Across my face, and then it left." Wendy spoke, to everyone's surprise.

"Let's look into this later. For now- actually, for an hour ago. We're horribly behind schedule, but whatever- let's find out who's leaving."

Everyone got back to glaring at Craig- who, to be perfectly frank, didn't like his chances either. Cooki ceremoniously drew a rainbow-colored glittery envelope from her back pocket and opened it, a shower of sparkles dropping from the paper as she held it in her hand.

"And the person who will be leaving is- how predictable- Craig Tucker. But- what's this? Oho, the viewers have specified a REASON! 'Left behind helpless girl when confronted with age-old fears.' Bitch move there, mon ami." She shrugged at Craig.

"_Helpless_?" Wendy spat. It seemed she was returning to her old self.

"_Helpless? _Is that how they see me? _A defenceless little girl?_"

"Woah. Calm your tits, ho." Cartman laughed.

"Calm your fat rolls- if they haven't taken over your brain already, which is likely."

A general whisper of _Burn _went through the crowd.

"Okay, okay. Let's get Assh- uh, Craig out of here." Cooki dragged him onto the helicopter, which took off.

After that, another silence fell- until Cartman deemed it safe to make another remark.

"Another Incan prophecy in the books, perhaps, Wends?"


	17. Week 6 (I)

**I haven't updated in forever!**

**I know. I know. I'm a little #$#*%$&$* !#.**

**But I made a promise not to give up, so here it is!**

**I lost my fucking laptop so I dunno what I had planned for this chappie...**

**It's pretty short, so I can get back in the hang of writing.**

**I feel terrible for making y'all wait like this, and then giving you a short chapter.. :(**

**They will be longer, I promise!**

**This one is Friday length...**

**.**

**Meri**

* * *

Everyone else was considerably more protective of Wendy, at least over the weekend, and they started to display feral leanings of sorts, whenever Cooki came near, staring daggers at her and all but growling. Wendy herself told them it wasn't necessary and was beginning to get a little annoyed, wishing Bebe was here to admire the pattern on her face instead of babying her.

Even the fearless, spontaneous hostess was glad to leave them be that weekend.

Monday she was overly cheery, and as she dropped into the camp Wendy gave the boys a reassuring smile to stop them lunging at her.

Cooki raised her hand and opened her mouth to say something, but thought better of it.

For a short moment the six sat and one stood in total silence, broken only by the sporadic sounds of Cartman chewing on the celery Kyle had reluctantly given him to cure his stomach ache, and making noises of disgust.

The hostess composed herself, took a deep breath and opened her mouth again, this time successful in speaking.

"Okay. Uh-huh. Er... Trial. Today. Mm, wheel?" The last word was a request as she turned her head to the open door of the helicopter, and the two men came out carrying it.

She spun the wheel without a word, and when it pointed to "Wendy M. Testaburger" she turned very red and addressed the ground.

"Alrightsowhatyouneedtodois-"

"SPEAK UP, WOULD YA?!" Cartman was yelling angrily in between jaw movements.

This seemed to snap Cooki out of her state of humanity, and she turned back into the freakishly cheerful and fucking annoying hostess they all knew so well.

"The trial today, as I was saying, WENDY, will be a party game. We're calling it

"What the Hell am I Eating?"

"So you're going to put something in my mouth and I won't know what it is?"

"Yup."

"That doesn't sound-" Wendy blanched. She turned back to her campmates. Most of them shook their heads, in a motion saying 'You don't have to', but the look on Cartman's face clearly begged to differ.

"Uhhh..." The raven hadn't realized she was making a noise as she decided whether she wanted to face the fat boy's ice pick, or have to eat (or suck)... She didn't want to think about that.

A decisive look crossed her face. She was, all of a sudden, determined not to give the spoiled brat his way again, as he was so used to. Ice pick or no fucking ice pick.

"Uh, I'll pass." She kept a steady gaze on Cooki, chocolate brown eyes staring into blue, but she flipped off Cartman while doing so- the latter gasped indignantly.

"Okay then. My job is done." Cooki was remarkably upbeat all of a sudden, and she dropped something from her hand while she stepped into the chopper and left.

A small twiglike brownish thing wriggled on the ground. Damien picked it up, interested, then roared in pain.

"_Stupri angue consciscit_! It bit me!"

Everyone looked at him.

The demon boy rolled his fiery eyes. "Latin? Language of the devil? Open a book, shitbrains."


	18. Week 6 (II)

**A/N Yoo-hoo! 85 reviews, and the chapter length back to normal!**

**For all who find this chapter uncharacteristic of me;**

**The trial was not my idea. And I'm sleep-deprived. And I had the worst Friday night ever. Okay?**

**So, how 'bout this screwy new layout? It confuses me, but I don't hate it.**

**-Meri**

* * *

The week was uneventful as both Cooki and Wendy were just about back to their normal selves. As a matter of fact Wendy's tattoo thing was actually fading into thin, beige lines etched into her face.

One might go so far as to say it was eventfully uneventful.

Cartman was nowhere in sight most of the time, but some very obnoxious snickering could be heard from his tent, and while he searched for dollar signs during the cool nights.

Of course everyone who knew Eric Theodore Cartman suspected that he was up to something.

Damien set his tent on fire to see what would happen, and the fat boy ran out as quickly as he could- strangely he was carrying some sort of white cloth.

Upon finding the perpetrator Cartman shrieked a stream of swear words the likes of which none of them had heard of, in the loudest, strongest voice anyone had ever heard come from Eric Cartman, for all of an hour.

Even the demon boy was taken aback.

Slightly.

But on Cooki's arrival two minutes later he was just plain pissed. Kyle had been right about the funding for the show- they were cutting corners everywhere. An extra camp kit was out of the question, so two of the campers would have to share.

To make matters worse Cartman was deciding.

They stood in a half-circle in front of the poofy kid as he pointed at each one of them, thinking simultaneously about which choice would cause the others the most pain, and keep him the most comfortable.

Dramatically taking off his light blue poofball hat and throwing it at Wendy, undoubtedly the one with the cleanest tent, he told her;

"I'm takin' your crib, bitch. Figure it out."

She stood, speechless, but slowly turning a light magenta color.

Shaking with anger she stuttered;

"Don-don't wrinkle m-my-my clothes. I'll p-pick them up in-in a sec-second."

She then walked over to what used to be her tent with her fist raised, but Cooki stopped her.

"Uh uh uh, Wendy. We all have to pay for Damien's mistake."

So she went over to one of the log seats and punched it so that it split and a loud crack indicated something was wrong wih her hand.

While the others waited for Wendy to return from the dirty little lake where the banana leaves they used as bandages grew, hysterical laughing could be heard from Wendy's-now Cartman's- tent.

"You guys! Look what I found!"

Kyle and Pip ran over, the others simply not giving a shit, and loud arguing could be heard from inside.

"Give that back, Fatass! You can't just read other people's-"

"_March 23rd. Today was sort of boring, but one person brightened my day, just by being a good friend. I really like-"_

"Oh, Eric. You really shouldn't be reading Wendy's diary." Pip tried to contribute.

At this point the fat boy was being physically dragged out of his new tent by Kyle, carrying a small book with a purple leather cover and laughing like a madman.

Sweating and red at this point, the boy in the green hat gestured to Kenny, who gladly pitched in carrying the immense weight of Cartman.

Wendy arrived shortly afterward and, to make a long story short, she punched the other log after securing all of her things, especially the diary in the tent she now shared with Kyle, who-for the record- volunteered.

Cooki cleared her throat, causing everyone to turn to her.

"Ahh, not to be a bother, but the trial was supposed to be several hours ago."

The wheel was hastily brought out and it landed on "Kyle Broflovski".

The latter looked around shiftily for closure, but Cooki snickered.

"You must smizzle the fanoopels on one of your MALE campmates."

"I must what?" Now he was just puzzled.

Cooki held up a megaphone, Cartman-style. "You gotta suck a guy's balls."

Cartman was laughing his head off. "That shouldn't be too hard for him of all people-"

Kyle kicked him in the aforementioned body part, causing the fat boy to squeal in pain.

"We'll spin the wheel again to determine whose fanoopels you'll have to smizzle."

Cooki spun the wheel again; surprise surprise, the wheel dictated it be "Eric T. Cartman."

Green eyes met brown as Kyle went red and Cartman struggled to keep a straight face.

"Ah yes, my poor dry bruised balls could use some gentle- moistening..." He shrieked with laughter.

Cartman seemed to have assumed that Kyle had already decided because he procured something from his back pocket (don't ask me how it fit in there); the same Pope outfit he'd worn when he was hoping the same thing would happen seven years ago, obviously altered a little. Or a lot, so that he could fit in it now.

They all gave him a second to change. In the meantime Kyle's hands were clasped into fists so tightly his knuckles were paling.

The fat boy gestured for the other to climb the stage conveniently there behind them ("Gaywads first"), and then joined him. The green hat was getting precariously close to Cartman's crotch (most of the others had turned away at this point, and Cooki was looking very green) when some very explicit gagging caught everyone's attention.

"Uh-uh. No, no, no, no, no, no. Homoerotic oral sex is where I draw the line. Fuck this, I'm going." Damien was clutching his stomach, looking pissed.

"Where?" Wendy questioned.

"Uhm, let's see. I am the spawn of the Devil, so I guess I'll be heading to DETROIT?" Sarcasm was almost dripping from the previous sentence.

The demon boy then clicked his fingers and disappeared in a haze of flames.

Kyle then vomited all over the fat boy, not possessing the strongest of stomachs as it was and simply too disgusted to care about an edible dinner anymore.

Cartman yelled, so loud that everyone had to cover their ears;

"GODDAMMIT!"

Cooki shifted nervously.

"Uhm, bye."

She RAN for the helicopter and it left at the speed of light.


	19. Week 6 (Friday)

**Hellosies everyone! The funny thing is, I wrote this on a Friday afternoon, just before school ended. And it's FRIDAY IN THE STORY! AHAHHHAHAHA... I'm not funny. We had half a free block. IT WAS EPICCCCCCCCC!**

**More updates coming soon (If I can get my shit together)!**

**Love,**

**Meri**

* * *

"Ah, the end of another glorious week, after which there will be only- how many of you again? Uhm, whatever."

Cooki was trying and failing to deliver an inspiring speech. Remembering something, she snapped her fingers and looked back at the remaining South Parkers.

"Five of you will remain, and none will leave, as our patrol team has just reported back to say that Damien Thorne is, indeed, in Hell, or at least somewhere that's not... uh... here."

This met with mingled "Well, DUH"s, "Who gives a flying fuck?"s, and general chatter and mumbling.

"Right. But we still have to do a trial. So. Yeah. You know. Ratings."

Kyle spoke up, ever the inquisitive mind.

"But even with Damien gone, won't the viewers want someone actually VOTED off?" He eyed Cartman, who was sitting on the opposite log, with a look of purest hate, and slight revulsion as he remembered what had happened earlier.

"Uhm, I guess. But we signed a ten-week contract. And we get a big fat paycheck at the end of every one. So... screw the viewers."

The teenage boy, still wearing the same green hat, bit his lip and all but snarled as he turned to Cartman. "I guess you'll have to continue single-handedly polluting Australia for another week."

"I guess I will." Cartman looked very content, smiling as he emitted some silent-but-deadliness.

Everyone shrieked.

"Damn, Fatass!" Kyle was disgusted- more so, clearly.

"Ohhh, such a stank odor. Do make sure you don't do that again, Eric." Pip was cautious.

"GODDAMMIT, FUCK OFF WITH YOUR GROSSNESS, FAT BOY!" Wendy was flipping out.

Cooki shrugged and procured a gas mask from her back pocket, looking like a fly-elephant hybrid.

"Shut up, guys. It's not that bad." Cartman shrugged it off, clearly not smelling the gassy death.

Kenny threw up and swayed where he sat- almost falling over but regaining his composure quickly and sitting straight-right on cue.

"Oh, what-EVER." The fat boy was now just being defensive.

"Now, the trial?" the fly-elephant thing clapped its hands twice and the usual two men brought in the bleak wheel.

"There's something new this week. We have a smaller wheel to decide the trial as well as the usual to determine the names."

Flyface spun the new, smaller wheel first.

Kyle crossed his fingers, though he knew it wouldn't help. "Please don't let it be-" He finished his sentence, saying "more MTV cartoons", just as the small wheel landed on "More MTV Cartoons", which was predictable since half of the wheel's sections said things like "MTV Crap" MORE MTV CRAP!" "YET MORE MTV WATCHABLE SHIT"

The makers of the wheel were evidently as uninspired as the show's writers.

The wheel landed on "Kenneth McCormick", who shrugged and walked into the small wooden hut with the primitive TV set that had magically appeared behind them, as things so often did.

He came back to the camp at sunset, and he had to be supported by Kyle and Wendy, who was having some trouble.

The blonde boy's face was chalk-white, and he kept up a continuous stream of conversation with himself.

"Hello Beavis. Let's go to the mall, shall we?"

"Uh, Kenny?" Kyle was worried.

"That sounds like a great idea, Butthead."

"KENNY!"

"We can go look at the mannequins, and-"

Wendy slapped him across the face. "For fuck's sake, Kenny!"

They all went to bed soon, Kenny (again) having to be dragged to his tent, where everyone was kept awake by his talking.


End file.
